Seven Sins
by eliska
Summary: In glory we come, in ruins we go... Damien-centric; multiple pairings, each revolving around a central sin. Multichap'd. Rated for swearing and sexual connotations.


A/N: These will be connected stories, not exactly one-shots and not exactly a continuing story. There will be het and slash, with all the chapters revolving around a central sin… I guess? I know it doesn't quite make sense in some parts, but I hope the confusion will be cleared eventually in later chapters. Or you could just… use your imagination. Yup.

Oh, and most of these pairings will revolve around Damien, or at least I could say he'll appear in every chapter. Mhm.

Constructive criticism is always welcomed :).

Third-to-last line: _The Raven_ by Edgar Allan Poe

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

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I: _luxuria._

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I.

"So if I give you my soul, you'll give me anything I want?"

The other boy nodded.

"I remember you being more verbose than this, you know. All of that crazy son of Satan shit, back in third grade."

"I changed."

Craig smirked, and flipped him off. "Not as much as you'd think."

II.

The road was long, a pavement of pebble and rubble that winded far into the distant mountains. A nightingale called from somewhere far off, the bloody scarlet of the sun dyeing the forest into a sea of blood.

Somehow, Craig thought, he felt disconnected from the world around him; this was a kind of tranquility he'd never experienced before, an alien concept. Home was miles away, and strange—but the strangeness was familiar; this place seemed more bizarre, even, than giant guinea pigs and talking orcas. Familiarity was relative, sometimes intangible, but even a little bit of incongruity might disrupt it, no matter how small the difference.

He was waiting there, at the end of the world.

"This is an experiment." _And since when did I speak in scientist?_

Damien tilted his head, gesturing at the landscape around them. "I know. Beautiful, isn't it?"

His figure seemed to shimmer and bend in the dying sunlight, seemingly apt to disappear at any second. The blue-eyed boy shrugged; he saw nothing romantic in that moment. It was only an experiment, after all—a scientific prospect, one that needed only stale facts and hypotheses, routine experimenting and cold, tangible results. Just another day at the lab, only this time it was to be done… outside. "Do I look like I'd give a fuck about what the weather was like? Let's just get this over with already."

"…I thought this was your idea?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." They were on the top of the mountain, at the edge of a cliff—was it really a mountain or a cliff, or something out of this world, out of his mind?—and the uneven fields of unnamed grass seemed to stretch on forever.

_To hell and back_, he thought. _Damn straight._

"Feel anything?" Damien asked, as the other boy slowly positioned his body to be exactly on top of him. "Happiness? Ecstasy? Hard? Anything?"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to think." _Of course I'd feel something, fucktard. What else would there be?_ Craig flipped over, feeling crimson eyes boring holds into his head. It just felt really fucking weird to lay there like that. _It's just an experiment_, he told himself. _Nothing more_. If he couldn't feel shit, that was that.

On the other hand, it also kind of felt really fucking… _right_.

III.

There were lights.

Bright, blinding lights. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, only it seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere, at once. It was as if he were one again, or a hundred, or maybe a thousand. The light had no color, but it did not matter; his eyes felt sewn shut, and unmoving.

"Hey."

It was a voice that he knew, strangely familiar and all-knowing. The memory resisted; who was it, again?

"That was a really stupid thing you did back there, you know?"

He knew.

"I guess you'd found the answer already, then."

IV.

Solitude is a strange thing, hard to achieve and, when achieved, often makes one long for what one wants to leave behind; the subconscious refuses to be left alone.

V.

Craig thought about the many times he had fucked up before, from the time he was with Tweek—and almost beat him to death—to the numerous other faces and names he could not remember. The sex had been irregular, the quality questionable; some days would be good, some days not quite. He'd always been the one to end these relationships, the one who just couldn't bring himself to give a shit if you still loved him back or not, only that if you didn't get the hell out of his face—_now_—you'd probably end up in the ER.

Hell, this time he just… didn't know. He was pretty sure he didn't like the little emo shit, who said he'd changed but still felt as if he could whine the legs off a table if he really wanted to. Sure, he looked okay, but kind of what… cute? Weirdly so, perhaps. Damien's non-whining lectures didn't really get to him, either; there were always better things to talk about, in his opinion, than extremely fucked up theories on death and sinning.

But he couldn't stop thinking.

_Great_. He wanted to smack his head against a brick wall, a cement floor… just about anything within reach._ Did that little shit plan this all along?_ It wasn't impossible, he reasoned, or this might just be another… side effect.

It was really kind of ironic, in a way.

VI.

"Damien, was that on purpose?"

Crimson orbs stared back, amused. "Intentionally? No. But I guess sometimes things like this just… happen. They do so, you know, more often than you'd imagine."

"Well, shit." He felt itchy and uncomfortable, under the glare of a scarlet sky and the heat of the flames. "What happens if… if something more happens? Between us?"

"Well, you go to Hell." A pause. "Oh. Wait…"

VII.

He was Naked, with a capital N, and alone.

"Little piece of shit," Craig muttered, shivering. "Son of a fucking _bitch._"

The cold grappled at him, twisting his body this way and that, baring his skin and nether regions towards the sky, and everywhere. He felt it now, tumescent and full to the brim; there was a strange satisfaction in it, unexplainable and illusive. Despite this sensation he felt like a child again, flying in his dreams—carefree, but not entirely innocent.

"Is this what you wanted?" His body tingled in excitement, and he nodded slowly, as if in a trance.

The demon smiled now, wider than ever. "I do not grant wishes. That I have said. They come to me at night, in the darker corners of alleyways and forests, looking for sex and booze and hallucinations. They bring themselves their wishes, not I.

"I know what you think of me, that I'm an emo cunt who should go fuck himself in a bathtub and cut his wrists while he's at it. Well, fuck, I'll admit that. And still you somehow seem to be… attracted to me.

"Don't you see?"

"See what?" Craig whispered, already distant. "See… what?"

"You brought yourself here; I am merely just here, watching. You wanted me, and I came because of you, your lust for… what? For more, for what mortals cannot give you anymore, the satisfaction of your endless carnal desires? And does it matter in the end, really?" He suddenly felt older, more tired, as if in those words had suddenly put a weight on him. Craig was asleep already, his head lolling with the icy wind chafing his skin. He looked cold, so cold.

_"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor; shall be lifted—nevermore!"_

Damien sighed, and touched his forehead gently.

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

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Love, which is lust, is the Main of Desire. - William Ernest Henley


End file.
